Rajesh Gusain

Thursday, February 9, 2017

It is a love story and it starts with our hero. The hero, as you may find, resembles a lot to the author or what the author imagines himself to be, but it is all coincidental since the author lacks the ingenuity to come up with characters. The hero is a shy, lanky guy, who has a difficult time in matching his clothes; so he ends up buying only shades of blue so they match whichever combination he picks up. He has these not so fancy black eyes that seem too small to decipher his emotions. The leading lady on the other hand shall be described in all her beauty when she first comes into picture, in the next paragraph.

It was hot as hell, as it always is in the hero's city except when it's raining, even at 5:30 in the evening, as the hero reached the parking area of his office. The parking area was small even when full fledged and now it was further reduced due to the refurbishment going on by parts. That, although turned out to be a blessing in disguise. The hero, tired after a long day of work, had finally reached his bike in the parking lot and was about to press the self start button when his eyes wandered off and he saw a damsel in distress. The girl was stuck as her scooter was blocked by another bike. She had her helmet on so he could only see her nose and the sun's reflection on her visor which obscured her soon to be discovered beautiful eyes but her curly yet wavy hair was bustling sideways because of the warm sea breeze that the evening brought along with it. The hero in his mind had already helped the girl, fallen in love and married her, but reality stung him soon as the old guy, whose bike was blocking her scooter, came along and took his bike away silently apologizing to the girl. The hero was still staring and suddenly the girl turned around and noticed, but our hero was used to such situations and knew how to pretend to be just turning around his head as if taking an overview of the construction work going on the in the parking lot. He started his bike as fast as he could, feeling guilty as hell, and ran away from the scene of crime. It would be 48 excruciatingly long hours before he would run into her again.

I lied, he din't see her again for a month, until that fateful day when it was raining, but the story did carry on without them having to meet. It was 48 hours later since his first confrontation, he always hoped to run into her at the parking lot, but luck had it otherwise. He came to his bike, not so tired that day as he had spent the whole day bugging others since he had no work, when he saw his bike and the helmet lying over it, he observed something yellow flapping with the wind but still somehow attached to the helmet. He went closer, his shoes were tiring him, he always hated wearing shoes, it was a sticky note, with a small smiley at the bottom he read the text later, it said in a very neat equally spaced handwriting "I'm sorry I scratched your bike.". He read it and looked towards his bike, it hadn't been cleaned since the last time it was serviced which was six months ago, to observe a scratch on it would have been very difficult for him, and he didn't care enough for the bike anyway. He was just too happy to worry about anything but what to reply or should he reply at all. The anxiety was overwhelming, plus there was the fear of ruining it by writing something stupid or seemingly desperate. His gut feeling was to not writing anything, but his gut had betrayed him earlier too, so he decided against it and planned on writing a reply. He opened his bag and realised that he had no sticky notes, he slammed his head with his right hand, an expression he had learned from his mother, which he often used when he realised he was stupid, his mother's expression were also always directed towards his stupidity, as they say-once a moron always a moron. But then he had an epiphany, he realised he could write on the same paper and stick it on her scooter, he wasn't so stupid after all.

He had never faced such lack of words before in his life, he scratched his head a lot trying to figure out what to write, he wanted to sound smart and funny in the shortest possible sentence. The best he could finally come up with was "Kamini, paisa tera baap bharega?"

Thursday, July 7, 2016

It was still dawn when I stepped out of the cab and walked towards the entry gate of the Delhi airport. The early morning February air was pleasantly cold.

I was travelling to Bengaluru to attend a college friend's wedding. It had been four years since we graduated from the same college. This wedding was also going to be a reunion of our batch mates. But what I didn't know was that the reunion would begin much ahead of time; right in the queue in front of the airline counter.

I was almost sure it was she. Same height! Same long hair! Same complexion! Curiosity had my eyes glued to her. And then about 60-odd seconds later, when she turned, she proved me right. My ex-girlfriend stood two places ahead of me in that queue. We had never met after the college farewell.

My heart did the same thing it had done eight years back when I had first seen her. It skipped a beat. It was like all those years trying to forget her, all in vain. She still looked like the prettiest girl I had ever known. Her eyes still made me weak in my knees. The feelings started rushing in all at once; it was concatenation of overwhelming and strange. It was the same for her I guessed, but I wasn’t sure. Her smile was hiding her anxiety or covering up the awkwardness induced by the unexpected encounter, I couldn’t deduce. Then she came near me and did the oddest thing I could imagine. She gave me a fist bump.

I tried to say something clever to get past that moment. But all I could come up with was a measly “Hi, how are you?” she promptly replied “I am good yaar, how are you? You look great; not like the last time I saw you”. This was followed by 10 long seconds of silence pushing us back to the last time we met. “I was a jerk then, should’ve been more understanding” I cursed myself, luckily not out loud.

“Where are you headed off too, I didn’t know you were in Delhi” I enquired, “Was here for a conference, going back home” she said. “Oh, I thought you are coming to the wedding” I almost exclaimed but controlled my disappointment. “Rahul’s wedding? I wasn’t invited” she said rolling her eyes. They weren’t the best of friends in college. “Never mind, when is your flight?” “One thirty”, “Mine is at one forty five, I guess we have one hour, if you would kindly oblige”, I said trying to put humour in my request. “Coffee?” she asked.

There I was again sitting on a table opposite to her, felt like I had travelled back in time. “What have you been up to?” she interrogated. “I started working in an IT company 9-5 job, but I got tired so I started working in my brother’s startup, flexible hours now” I said with a weird smile; “What have you been doing?” “I am still working for the company I got during college placement, in Mumbai”.

The initial awkwardness had surpassed and the conversation was as comfortable as it used to be when we were together, there was so much to catch up on. We talked for a long time; I was amazed at all the stuff she remembered about me. We cracked the same jokes we used to about professors, although outdated, they were still funny. I realized how with time, the bad memories had faded away all that remained were reminiscence of the pleasant times we shared together. For a moment there it was like we were in college again.

Then she asked the question I was dreading since the time we met again “Why didn’t you call?” It somehow felt nice that she cared but I was out of words, it wasn’t that I did not want to, it was my ego, I wanted her to call. But after sometime it had been too long, I had the conversation in my mind plenty of times but could never gather the courage to make the call and now here I was stumped, figuring out what to say. Say something smart, say something clever my thoughts reiterated, and finally I said “You didn’t call either”. Then there was twenty seconds of absolute silence, even the chatter around us drowned. Suddenly the shop-owner had an epiphany of sorts I guess and he switched over from ‘Adele’ to the ‘The Beatles’ ‘I saw her standing there’ started playing, she smiled, it was our song in college. When I had proposed to her in the bus while coming back from a college trip, we were listening to the same song on my I-pod. Nostalgia swooped in, I got lost again in her brown eyes which she had bordered with just the right amount of mascara, it was curious how she always got it right.

The moistness in her eyes was apparent. “Knock knock” I interjected, “Who’s there” she complied pleasantly, “Hi” I chuckled, it was the silliest of jokes I used to tell her college, I didn’t even have to finish it and she started laughing, so loud that the others started staring. That was the thing I liked about her the most; she never cared what “others” would think. I had successfully turned her sadness into happiness. I felt like superman. She looked at me again the way she used to, figuring out what it was that made us connect so well. “You remember how I broke your I-pod?” she asked “Yes, you dropped it and a bus went over it, poor thing never had a chance” I blushed. “I bought one from my first salary for you, but couldn’t give it to you then” she said and pushed her hand inside her handbag trying to locate something. I was pleasantly shocked, it was the same model that I had in college, all these years she remembered. The moistness of the eyes had now transferred to mine. She gave the I-pod to me, I didn’t protest; it was probably the best gift anyone had given to me. She sensed the tears of joy I was about to shed. I saw her hands moving towards mine.

But alas! All good things come to an end, it was time for her flight, and the boarding announcement was made. She could see the disappointment in my eyes, she tried to smile to make it go away but she couldn’t. She said she will freshen up and return in five minutes. I rushed to the nearest human being near me and borrowed a pen. I scribbled down on the backside of the long coffee bill. Luckily I was done by the time she returned.

We started walking towards the boarding gate. She was thinking about something, I could tell from the way she was twisting her hair around her finger, then she asked with a smile on her face “What was that line you used to say every time you were trying to butter me up”. Although I did remember the line I tried to play it cool and scratched my head pretending to think and three seconds later is said “If there are parallel universes, I want you in each one of them”. “But you never believed in parallel universes” she said trying to hide her smile, “But you did” I said trying equally hard but failing to hide my smile. By the time, we had reached the boarding gate. We said goodbye and then we had a formal handshake; she came closer and gave me a sideways hug which always implies you are just a friend. I was cast down, but I managed to hide my feelings pretty well, I smiled and gave her the note I had scrupulously jotted down. I stood there and saw her walking away; she opened the paper and started reading.

To,

The prettiest girl I have ever known,

We get a lot of things in life

Some we lose, some we keep

We meet a lot of people in life

Some we hold on to

For some we weep

Loosing you, I always regret

But a part of you

With me

I’ve always kept

I miss our long walks

I miss the lengthy talks

Your smile made my day

Your frown couldn’t keep me at bay

Your laughter still lingers in my ears

I still have the things you gave to me

Even all the teddy bears

I don’t know what effect I have on you

But you make me the happiest person I ever knew

If you agree

Let's give it another chance

If your answer is no

I’ll understand if you were never to be found

But if your answer is yes

Baby please, just turn around

I get jitters even now when I think about that day. I had no idea how she would react, maybe it was too much too soon I thought. My heart was pounding; they were the slowest sixty seconds of my life.

Saturday, June 25, 2016

I dont know why blue is related to gloomy. I feel blue when I am happy. I feel blue today. Why? The first reason would be that it's a working day and I didn't go to office. The second is because I am in marine drive. Not the real one, the fake one in Cochin. The real marine drive has hosted many good memories for me, it's a place where you can get lost into the crowd just walking around or just sit and stare at the constant gushing waves smashing against funny shaped concrete blocks or just do anything you want, no one will give a tiny rat's ass, you can be whatever you want. The fake marine drive although lacking such qualities and also the scenic beauty is a good enough substitute if you haven't been to the real one for a year. Scenic beauty has never stirred my senses anyways. The marine drive in Cochin is a bit odd, as in it is not continuous, you have to enter through a shopping complex and exit after about 500 meters through a shopping complex again and enter through a labyrinth of tea-snacks shops for the remaining part of it. I had a lot of time to kill so I just walked through the entire length twice. I didn't have anyone to strike a conversation with, so I started observing. Observing the people all around, trying to note the similarities and the differences. Based on this elaborate and time consuming endeavor, I could divide the people into six basic types:

The first type, who were trying to hide the most, but were still the most conspicuous, were the young couples. The couples themselves can be further subdivided into three types. The primary and the most prevalent identities in such locations. These are very shy looking, holding hands, even if they are not facing each other. Even when they do face each other, they whisper so that anyone nearby can not eavesdrop. These are young couples, mostly teenagers, but they all look beautiful, because people in love look beautiful or beautiful people fall in love, either one of them has to be true.

Then there are the couples with a child. They look similar too. They typically include either the male or female looking after their child and the other one busy on his or her cellphone. There is nothing much to decipher about them, they are just going through this phase of life.

Now you may wonder, as I did, where do the children come from? Holding hands surely doesn't do the trick. The answer probably is that they come from the smart couples. Smart enough to know that love is more than just holding hands. But not smart enough to realise what their actions could lead to!

The third type are the old couples, who have had enough time to realise that all these phases are pointless and are just happy that they are still healthy enough to stroll around or sit without any support.

I also encountered numerous gangs of pretty loud teenagers. It may sound like I am exaggerating, but

I really saw at least four similar groups. These groups had five dudes, all with the same hairstyle and skinny jeans, and two girls. One of the girls was only interested in one guy and the other one just went blabbering about. Of course there is one cool guy who doesn't give a fuck and is looking in a direction no one else knew existed. The hairstyle part seriously bothers me, although I am not old enough, but I think the generation gap has become apparent already. They all have the same freaking hairstyle, the hyperbolated virat kohli look.

Next is the group of girls. Now by group I imply two. It is very difficult to find a group of girls with more than two girls in it. Again something I can't comprehend. These girls, although I am not objectifying, has one pretty girl and the other one not so pretty and they are always showing something to each other on their cellphones or taking selfies with a pout.

The last type are the group single guys, mostly five to six in quantity. They too have the virat kohli look and the skinny jeans that look so uncomfortable you wonder how they manage to sit without squishing things. They just stare at the group of girls and the girls in other groups.

The list is not exhaustive, you will also encounter group of adult men in lungis judging everyone else and the occasional husbands who according to their wife are at work but sit looking at the waters instead.

Who am I? I probably belong to the group of those single guys, but since I am alone, I stand free and I judge the others. I don't share their hairstyle though.

Friday, April 29, 2016

Not so far away in a place called nowhere. Sir Picksalot owned a very peculiar bar.

Sir Picksalot as his name would suggest had a very odd habit of picking his nose, even though such picking due its frequency did not always yield promising results, there was no other place where Sir would rather enjoy his finger. Although you might assume so, but the knighthood wasn't granted to him due to his excellence in the above mentioned field it was just something his family named him, you see his grandfather was accorded with the knighthood for his extraordinary contributions to the war, his parents just passed it onto him to continue his grandfather's legacy. 'Middle' (hereafter referred to as The bar) was placed right at the center of a very busy city. But due to the Mayor’s successful sobriety propaganda and the failing economy the bar had only four customers. Four regular customers and not another living soul except them ever entered the premises.

Strange as it may sound to a regular bar monger, the place only opened from 8 pm to 11 pm. Which implies no happy hours. Before you stop breathing and loose all your faith in society, we shall continue with the story part of this exorbitantly explained scenario. The new word being a an antithesis/euphemism of course to the writer's inability to create or even imagine a grander or reasonable setting for the story to unfold. Without further ado let's move on to the four regular customers, of which one shall die (no this is not the suspense).

The names, for the sheer lack of imagination or effort and also to avoid the stereotypes that we form in our head relating to names from the people we meet, were Rat, Pat, Mat and Chester Yes you guessed it right, Chester dies.

Just when Picksalot, dribbling through the bushy field of his nose, had located something worthy enough to stick in his nails and expose to the outside world. He heard a gentle thud on the bar door. This was odd as none of his four customers had ever knocked and Chester, who was the only person missing from that bar that night, would be the last person to do so. Picksalot irritably leaving the dried mucus, which had been located after an hour of dedicated searching, carefully in the same place where it was found got up from his seat and limped up to the door. Outside waiting restlessly was a tall figure strongly built with a jawline that would make George Clooney look like a kid. The physical persona was not reflected in his flail bodily movements. It was the renowned local police officer detective Chad. As soon as he saw Picksalot his shoulders drooped further and he started scratching his head in order to come up with an opening line. Finally after 10 long seconds of silence he spoke, " We found Chester's body in front of your bar's back door”. Picksalot, seldom a guy with expressions worth noticing, shrieked utilising all the air his lungs could manage. The surprising nature of the news being the major cause behind the wailing. He turned towards the other three inmates of the bar, who had already eavesdropped on the news and were too in a state of shock.

Wednesday, April 27, 2016

Isn't this what you are fighting for. Isn't this what you are dying for. I have waited for this moment my entire life, and it happened today. Writing the whole story would be tiresome, so here's a doggerel instead.

I was waiting for the elevator
I heard a sound
It was the girl I had seen last week
And my heart started to pound

I looked away immediatly
Trying not to stare
I had seen her last week when I went to cycle
She was sitting on the stairs
I rode for more than 10 km
But when I got back, she was still there

Now was the moment
but the lift took forever, it was better to take the stair?
We stood there both nervous
Towards her weird lunch box I did glare

The lift came finally and we both ground
Guessing who would go first
I waved my hand and allowed her to go in
trying not to be vile
She went in as she obliged
And I could see her hide her smile

The lift closed up and she pressed five
I hit six instead
And all of my emotions I tried to hide

She was as nerve wrecked as I was
She kept tapping her lunch box
I tried to keep calm instead
And stood there like a fox

Her hairbad i noticed
It was a weird shade of yellow
It suited her all the same
Like a spring to a bellow

The end was near
The elevator reached five
She moved away
And swayed like a hive

With her keys she juggled
as the lift still stood ground
The lift took forever to start
How could I have frowned

She lived in the flat below
towards the serendipity I laid low
To be continued is the story
Atleast I hope so.